


SUGARED HONEY

by thoughtsdemise



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Cybertronian grooming methods, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Polyamorous relationship, Romance, Spa Day, Spark Play, Spark Sex, Warped Reality (AU), be wise to Deadlock making lewd sex talk, claw clipping, fluffies, maybe a small bit of sounding like activity, pft what the heck you mean by this “canon”, sticky robot sex, tactile play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-07 00:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11612265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsdemise/pseuds/thoughtsdemise
Summary: The best bait for this temptation is a good dose of a honeyed sweet.





	SUGARED HONEY

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kuukkeli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuukkeli/gifts).



> Based upon some of Kuukkeli’s Cybertronian claw headcanons in connection with Drift.

The first indication that Ratchet had that something was up was Ambulon coming to hide in his office.  He blinked as his ward manager hunkered down into a corner not directly visible from the open door.  Ambulon does not say a word to Ratchet but did set about reading a medical text from his assignment list. Having seen this particular behavior before, Ratchet stands from his desk and goes out into the medbay, letting the door slide shut behind him.

The second indication Ratchet had that something was definitely up sat his large hulking aft on an examination table with a less than friendly glower as he eyed Firstaide, Ratchet’s apprentice, and the assortment of needles and other equipment he was gathering.  Ratchet does a quick visual scan of Megatron and heaves a sigh, narrowing in on what was wrong or what was going to be wrong when he got off shift soon.

Megatron’s chest and arms were covered in deep furrows.  He even bore a few lines on his helm.  The ex-tyrant notices Ratchet’s narrowed look and shifts out his armor plates in a bid to make himself look bigger as he snaps up straight. Ratchet lowers his helm forward slightly to level a penetrating look at him earning a subtle flinch from Megatron.  Autobot or Decepticon, all had heard of the infamous Hatchet Lecture when one did something deemed exceptionally stupid.  Rodimus proudly boasted that he could recite the lecture by heart.

Ratchet runs a hand down his face, digits going to push at the inward corner of his optics.  He’s not certain what had possessed Megatron to act with such stupidity, but he did know that all of the work that he and Perceptor had put in might just have been thwarted thanks to that stupidity.  And he had to actively remind himself of his medical pledge to not harm patients.  Besides there would be a slag storm on Cybertron if he attempted to offline this fool.

He gives said mech a glare coated in liquid nitrogen which leaves Megatron slicking down his armor tightly to his protoform and hunkering down against the examination table much to the open amusement of Firstaide.  He flashes Ratchet a sly wink behind his optical band.

“I can take over the rest of your shift, boss,” Firstaide offers a little too brightly.  “Velocity, Hoist, and I can split the difference for the next few shifts too.”  The light of Firstaide’s optical band becomes softer.

Ratchet gives his apprentice a warm smile.  “Alright.  Patch up rust-for-spark and confine him to his quarters for the next shift for recovery.”

“Wha-at?”  There is an undignified yelp in static as Firstaide sticks a local of numbing code into a minor energon line.  “I’ll have you know…”  Megatron starts.

“Ravage?”  Ratchet leans down to look at an all too amused feline lounging under the examination table.  “I’m putting you in charge of making sure he follows Firstaide’s orders.  Inform Ultra Magnus if he does not.”  Ratchet flicks a wry grin at the now sputtering Megatron.  “It’s Magnus or you get Rodimus sitting duty the next time we hit up Hedonia.”  His grin turns malicious when Megatron physically quails at the thought.  He heads for the exit with a quick wave at a now openingly laughing Firstaide.

Ratchet sends a warning text to Magnus and Red Alert that he was going to be missing out on his next two scheduled duty shifts, adding the designations of his conjux endurae at the end of it as well.

He turns to the task of locating them so they could hole up somewhere.  Considering his options, Ratchet makes a beeline for Perceptor’s lab.  He would be the easiest to track down right now and could help him implement Operation Sugared Honey without any major snags.

“Hopefully,” Ratchet mumbles to himself.

Out of habit he sends a ping in Drift’s direction, but Ratchet gets nothing in return to the questioning ping.  Yup, Perceptor first then they would find and collect Drift.

=0=

Drift presses himself back into a corner of the engine room.  While not ideal for hearing potential incoming parties hunting for him, the deep thrum of the engines are oddly soothing as his own engine emits a whine, and he curls over his clenched hands protectively.  He shutters his optics to center himself.  He internally chants a mantra he had learned to calm the shaking in his frame.  He vents deeply and settles his processor onto a blank line of code as best he can.

He had known it was getting close to the time to get his claws clipped back; they had just begun to tick at the end of the digit sheathes.  He had even been discussing the procedures with Perceptor and Ratchet, adding in a few of his own ideas to make the clipping process a stress free experience.  These talks had been going a long way to help him relax any internalized anxiety he would have normally begun to feel before hand.

Drift’s vents hitch, and he curls himself into a smaller ball.  Wishing he had opted for darker coloring instead of the red/white coloring.  He shifts and chases after the line of blank coding.

A part of Drift knew deep down that he might be seen as acting ridiculous over such a simple procedure.  And being honest it was entirely pain free if done correctly.  It only held an odd sensation to it.  Drift knew his conjux endurae had never laid any judgement on him for his anxiety, even before they had learned the reason behind it.

‘And hadn’t that been a shiny wheel rim of an experience,’ Drift reminds himself with a shade of humor.

Ratchet had had to corner Perceptor and calm him down to prevent him from going after Shockwave.  Drift smiles a bit more fondly at the memory of the usually stoic mech almost completely losing it, and Ratchet, the one mech quick to temper and anger, being the one to calm and soothe and reason.  They had thought Drift in recharge after the multitude of overloads and and careful grooming and buffing.

Drift had put all of his trust and faith in his then only sometimes partners from that moment onward.  Ratchet had been able to calm Perceptor to the point that they could both crawl into the berth with Drift to cocoon him in frame and field.

The tension begins to leave his frame at that thought.  His spark slows and soothes out into its more natural rhythm at the sensation thought of Ratchet and Perceptor’s field wrapping about him like he was swaddled.

Drift uncurls himself enough so that he can lean against a wall.  While he still keeps his hands hidden between his thighs now, Drift takes a deep steadying vent.  He turns his focus inward enough to activate a locating ping that Ratchet had taught to Perceptor and him should either of them be in capable of sending a comm signal or message.

Drift wasn’t sure he could fully trust himself to send a coherent communication, but the ping would lead his mates to his location.

He even began to beam happily when first Perceptor then Ratchet sent their own ping signatures to stand in harmony with Drift’s.  He shutters his optics and draws in steadying vents, waiting.

=0=

Perceptor was not above using fear and the unspoken threat of the noise of his scope optic focusing in on mechs who hadn’t heeded Ratchet’s snapped “get out”.  If it offered his lovers the peace and quiet they desired then yeah he was not above using the fear of his mercilessness to rid the bathing area of any and all lingering mechs.

Only Trailbreaker, already more than catered, blinked unfocused optics at the looming Perceptor.  He grins and lifts a glass of energex until Ratchet grabs him by his collar fairing and tosses that big mech on his back and carries him to the door to escort him out.

“Well now.”  Perceptor smiles and purrs over the display of strength that would surprise some no matter how many times Ratchet and other medical staff were able to throw mechs as big as Fortress Maximus around as if they weighed no more than Rung.

As Ratchet hands a confused Trailbreaker to the waiting hands of Ultra Magnus, Perceptor turns back to Drift who had opted to start gathering pillows for a comfortable “nest”.  His face softens, and he activates the transformation sequence to fold away his scope lense.

He walks carefully and slowly to the edge of Drift’s nest of pillows and kneels there.  He watches the nervous stutter that passes over Drift’s armor plates.  Perceptor sits back on his heels and places his hands in his lap in full view.  He opens his usually reserved field and relaxes his controlled grip on it so that it extends to tickle invitingly at the edge of Drift’s field.  He graces Drift with a small smile, the small smile that Drift in particular liked.  He watches a lip become bitten, and this time any stutter that passed over Drift’s frame was followed by a quick press of thighs together.

Perceptor looks to his left when he feels a familiar stroke along his arm.  Ratchet was smiling in exasperated fondness at him.

“Careful, Perce.  Don’t want him overloading too quickly now.”

Perceptor watches as Ratchet shifts his gaze to Drift and reaches a hand out to lightly touch the edge of one pillow.

And the game begins.

It is a familiar routine the three of them had developed over the course of their years together, only strengthened when they took that final step to become full conjux endurae when Ratchet had brought Drift back from his exile.

Perceptor smiles at the memory while Drift trills and tilts his helm in that way of his that reflects definite interest.  Perceptor remembers the way Ratchet had verbally laid into Rodimus before he finally felt he could leave to search for Drift.  It had taken Perceptor quite a while to convince him that he could not come with, but that he would be waiting safely with open arms for the both of them.

They had, Perceptor remembers, been able to get few responses from Drift.  Both of them had the distinct impression that he had needed the space.  Ratchet had fumed, but in a way, he had understood that that was Drift.  Drift who would move from one purpose in life to another without any direction sometimes.

Perceptor sighs and focuses his attentions back onto the process Ratchet had made into Drift’s nest of pillows.  Red digits stroking Drift’s ankle softly.  ‘In the end he is back home; he is back with us,’ Perceptor thinks before moving to join his two lovers when a shy but expectant look is given to him from Drift.

Like Ratchet, Perceptor keeps his movements slow.  Digits dancing lightly over Drift’s legs.  He doesn’t linger like Ratchet does, however, and is able to slide his digits up over Drift’s hips to his sides.  Perceptor pets and tickles the components there with a wry smile plastered on his face.  It distracts Drift from the tingling of the scan of one of Ratchet’s medical scanners.  Scans he needed to see if there had been any physical damage done to Drift.

“Come now, Drift,” Perceptor’s voice lilts over both of his lovers’ audios as he leans forward enough to press a light but lingering kiss on Drift’s chest.  “No need to squirm so much,” he teases his digits along the seams again that usually drew a gasping vent and squirming flail from Drift.

Perceptor sneaks a look back at Ratchet when his engine gave a powerful thrum at the sight he and Drift must be making.  ‘Ratchet and his need for the spark,’ he thinks as he extends his glossa to lick over the place on Drift’s chest he had just kissed.  Drift’s laughs turn into a low moan as the vibrations from Ratchet’s thrumming engine hits his core.  ::Remember not to overload to quickly,:: Perceptor sends a quick private comm to Ratchet before giving Drift’s chest a last lick and drawing back.

His optics narrow in pleasure to feel the harmonic pulse of lust from the two separate but intermingled fields.  Drift lay back on the pillows, optics needy as his frame and field fill with his lust.  Ratchet had moved up far enough on Drift’s frame so that he could rub soothing circles along the expanse of Drift’s thighs and hips.

::Shall we begin?::  He comms Ratchet and turns his helm to catch Ratchet’s look of consideration.  ::Was it that bad do you think?::  Perceptor leans down to Drift when he notices a black hand being raised hesitantly.  He kisses the palm of Drift’s hand before leaning his cheek against it.  He smiles warmly at Drift as claws lightly scrape over the soft metal there.  Perceptor’s field reflects nothing but love, trust, and acceptance.

Ratchet chuckles and withdraws from the nest as Perceptor allows Drift to begin stroking over his frame, claws fully but carefully exploring.  He goes over to collect the bathing and polishing tools.  He does pick up a pair of clippers but rests them a way outside of where Drift had made the pillow nest and in full view of him.

Drift casts a hesitant glance at them until Perceptor emits a low moan when a claw tip strokes over a deep node cluster under Perceptor’s shoulder joint.  He decides to disregard them for now and instead focuses solely on making Perceptor squirm as much as he had made Drift squirm earlier.

“Drift,” Ratchet’s tonals are soft as Drift looks up at him.  He smiles brightly when Ratchet holds up a container of his favorite wax.

Wanting nothing more than to slip into the warm solvent water bath near them and be pressed between both his mates, Drift relents on making Perceptor squirm and makes for the bath.  He jumps in with as much of a splash as possible.

He sinks playfully beneath the surface, only his optics and the top of his helm above the surface of the water.  He swims in excited little circles and occasionally throws a wink at the two still on the pillow nest.

Ratchet and Perceptor give each other a knowing look before moving to join the suddenly rambunctious Drift.  Though they do slip more calmly into the water than Drift’s enthusiastic jumping dip. They regard their lover as he is quick to swim for them.  His path takes him between and around each of them in turn, drawing an infinity glyph.

Perceptor catches Ratchet’s lip trembling slightly and chuckles as he gives into the teasing come-get-me game Drift wants to play.  He pounces and catches Drift up and against him.  He kisses Drift deeply making him moan and press forward hard enough that the metal of their armor creaks.  Perceptor lifts a hand to Ratchet who is quick to press himself against Drift’s back, hands wrapping about Perceptor’s waist.  Perceptor breaks the kiss with Drift before leaning about Drift’s helm to seal his lips over Ratchet’s.

He feels Drift begin to slide his frame between himself and Ratchet.  He can tell Ratchet does too because he presses closer into Drift’s back, effectively capturing him.

Perceptor moans at the sensation of Ratchet’s glossa stroking over his coupled with the desperate clutch of Drift’s digits as he watches them kiss so deeply.

All three of their fields swirl in a melodic harmonic of lust and trust and love.  The heat in their frames grows with each pulsing echo.  Drift, still between them, is the first to come undone.  Perceptor gives a tug to some wires in Ratchet’s arms, and the medic is quick to follow Drift.  Perceptor’s frame baulks and quivers as the overloads wash over him, spiking his own systems into overload.  All three are left panting and sizzling in the waist deep water.

Ratchet gives Perceptor’s waist a slow stroke before drawing away and moving toward a wall of the bathing pool, silently thankful he had demanded electricity absorbers in the bathing pools.  Their systems would have been slagged from that overload for the next hour or so if those dampeners weren’t in place.  As it was, each of them were shaking with the force of an overload that the water had added a depth to the charge.

Ratchet shivers and arches with a small overload as he touches the metal surface of the deck to ground himself, not hard to do considering his systems being so primed for overload at this point, and lowers his shaking frame to sit in the pool.  He looks up at the feel of cool optics on him and gives Perceptor a shameless grin and shrug.  What did he expect?  Ratchet had made no secret that he was a hedonist at the core of his spark even before they had started hooking up and before Drift had come into the Autobots let alone into their existing partnership.

Ratchet’s optics alight on Drift who was still clutching at Perceptor to steady himself.  Strong blue-red arms encompass his shuddering frame as it calms.  It takes a while given what Drift had been put through in the almost catastrophic event of Megatron trying to be helpful.  Ratchet silently grinds his denta but is able to keep any negative emotions from his spark.

Perceptor kisses Drift’s forehead which draws wide optics up to his own.  Perceptor looks over Drift’s helm at Ratchet before turning back to Drift with a quirked brow.  A look of devilishness passes over Drift’s face before he nods his head slightly and steps away from Perceptor to turn and stalk towards Ratchet who shifts at the predatory gaze being directed at him.

Drift’s hands land on Ratchet’s shoulder, and he moves quickly to straddle Ratchet’s lap.  He lowers one hand beneath the surface of the water to stroke over a warm modesty panel.  The tips of Drift’s claws poke at the seams of Ratchet’s spike housing as Drift leans forward to lay a biting claim on Ratchet’s exposed neck when he had flung back his helm.

Panels pop and a cable pressurizes into the warm slightly charged water and Drift’s searching grip.  Ratchet seeks out Drift’s hips to ground himself.

“Can’t do -ah!- can’t do it too many-”  Ratchet thrusts into the stroking digits when a claw tip is poked at his transfluid channel opening.  Thrill races through Ratchet as he tugs on Drift’s hips.  “Need you, want you,” he is able to get out between panted vents and bursts of static.

Drift tosses a smug smile over at Perceptor who had moved to stand behind the two of them.  “Think I should be merciful?”  Drift turns to look back at Ratchet with head tilted, claw tip probing the transfluid channel opening again.  “After all, Ratch isn’t gonna give me any mercy later when he’s running that wax over my plating.  I know how it goes, Ratch,” he snaps his sharper denta together in Ratchet’s field of vision.

After the third press of a claw tip to the opening, Drift slides his valve cover aside and shifts to rub just the head of Ratchet’s cable against the entrance of his port.  “So what do you think, Percy?”  Drift strokes his palm down Ratchet’s length.  “Mercy or be merciless?”  Drift ignores the insistent tug of Ratchet’s digits and the almost intelligible pleas emitting from his static laden vocalizer.

Perceptor lowers himself behind Drift, placing a splayed hand on Drift’s lower back.  He leans forward to look over Drift’s shoulder at their lover, panting and breathless.  Perceptor lowers the hand from Drift’s back to the round of his aft, digits slipping between thighs to press at the rim of Drift’s valve.  He adds a ghosting touch to the head of Ratchet’s cord.  He presses a kiss to Drift’s audio as thick lubricants coat his digits even under the water.

“Perhaps some mercy is allowable,” he whispers and lowers his hand to stroke over Ratchet’s own exposed port.  “After all,” the tone of his voice low, “I’m going to be sliding into him soon, and I know just how much you love to feel the thrust of his cord as I pound into him.”

Ratchet and Drift moan at the thought.  Ratchet’s hands are quick to rise from the water to clutch at the deck.  He slides lower to allow Perceptor better access to keep that dark promise.  Drift shivers and puts the head of Ratchet’s cord within him, circling his hips as he leans forward with the angle of Ratchet’s frame.

Perceptor releases his spike.  The pleasure curling in his systems no where near as close to overload as the two in front of him though.  He sighs dramatically.  “And to think I use to be such a good little science bot before you two got your digits on me.”  His smirk is evil as two pairs of optics unknowingly plea with him.

He reaches beneath Drift’s thighs to clutch Ratchet’s hips and lifts.  His heavy chest pressing into Drift’s back and splaying him directly onto Ratchet.  He rubs the head of his cord teasingly over Ratchet’s port entrance before thrusting forward, forcing Ratchet’s hips up sharply so his cord is plunged half way into Drift.

Perceptor draws back as Drift pushes down, hilting Ratchet easily.  He slams his hips forward and presses against Drift so his chest plate slides against Ratchet’s. For several minutes he thrusts in and out of Ratchet, making sure to lift red hips enough that Ratchet’s cord seated deeply into Drift.  Drift circles his hips as much as he can with the deep, unrelenting penetration.

Perceptor lifts his fame enough to allow Drift the space to raise his hips enough draw his hips over Ratchet’s spike in shallow thrusts.  He watches the desperate way Drift moves and flicks his optics to Ratchet who can only clutch at the deck of the bathing pool, his hips held still in Perceptor’s iron grip as Drift moves over him.

As their systems begin to crest into overload, Perceptor raises a hand to scruff Drift, stilling him even as both he and Ratchet emit loud protesting whines.  He gives the back of Drift’s neck a warning squeeze, like a mother turbofox holding a squirming young, when he makes an attempt to thrust his hips against Ratchet’s cable seated deeply in him.

“Perceptor!”  Ratchet gasps out.

“No,” he says simply and draws back before snapping his hips forward to emphasize the command.

Perceptor’s optics study Ratchet’s chest, already striped with large swaths of white paint.  He notes the level of the water is well below Ratchet’s spark chamber.  “Open.”  He draws back and begins to move his hips in shallow thrusts.  Shallow enough that they would not cause Ratchet’s own hips to move. He narrows his optics when the command fails to register in either of Drift or Ratchet’s pleasure-addled processors.  He hums and relents.  He does suppose that it is only a natural conclusion given how close to falling into overload they must be.

“Open your chests to each other,” he clarifies.  “I want to watch you overload when you are merged.”

Ratchet’s engine gives a powerful and deep thrum which causes Drift to arch and dig his digits into Ratchet’s shoulder assembles.  Drift nods his helm, desperately and activates his chest plates to slide open with the crystalline cover of his spark chamber.  He tugs at Ratchet when heated air presses against his spark.  Almost beyond words, he mouths “please” eagerly to Ratchet.

Ratchet is quick to cycle his own armor aside and expose his spark.  They both lock optics with each other.  Both of their sparks caste out searching tendrils when they sense a familiar presence nearby.

Perceptor keeps a tight grip on Drift as he helps him lean forward slowly and carefully.  He purrs in satisfaction as he watches their spark lights dim the closer their open chest cavities get and connect together.  He feels them both stiffen and moves his hand to grab Drift’s shoulder to give him enough leverage to begin a hard, pounding rhythm into Ratchet.

He bites his lip as his senses are assaulted with the merging fields.  They rake over him, demanding and clutching.  Both Ratchet and Drift on the cusp of overload. Perceptor calls out both of their designations in between bursts of static, trying to ignore their combined siren call. He gives in and shutters his optics to focus on the pull of their merged fields.

And even as his frame thrusts into Ratchet, Perceptor feels the both of them slide into the core of his contained spark.  The three sparks harmonize a second later, pushing them into overload together.  Externally, electricity zips over their frames, too much for the dampeners to handle all at once.  The three are dragged into a feedback loop when the cascade of electricity from their frames echoes back at them from the water.

The loop begins to lessen after the fifth overload as the dampeners are beginning to compensate.  Streaks of transfluid and lubricant float in the bathing pool and cling to their taxed frames.

Perceptor clings enough to consciousness to send a fumbling command to the bathing pool’s drainage system.  He runs optics over his conjux endurae, gladly noting their chest plates had triggered closed. He collapses soon after he is shot back acceptance of his command to the drainage system. All three lay on the bottom of the emptying pool, systems having gone into shutdown after overloading and enduring the feedback loops.

=0=

Ratchet’s systems are the first to try an aborted attempt to online, having extra circuitry in place to combat a serious shock to his vital systems.  An emergency protocol pings in his processor and sends an urgent command string code to his power plant.  It ups the voltage output and sends the resulting charge into his vital systems.

Ratchet onlines fully in next nano-click.  Battle protocols slamming into his processor and frame.  He’s up and stumbling to put his back up against a wall, his strut saw transforming out of his right arm as his engine redlines.  He does several quick sweeping scans of the area and identifies two mechs.  His optics narrows at the pile of them in front of him.  He emits a low guttural tone, raising his saw defensively before the main functionality of his processor clocks over, and he is able to recognize the mechs in front of him.

He slumps to his knees with a clang.  Transforming the saw away, he braces himself on his hands and knees.  Ratchet shakes as his systems compensate and recalibrate.  He lifts his head still trying to shake off the battle protocol coding.  It was a slagging hard thing to do even if the core of his processor knew there was no longer a need for them; they had become a part of his base coding.

He chuffs a laugh before lifting his heavy head.  His optics settle on the familiar and welcome sight of his mates.  In fact Perceptor’s own optics stare back at him wryly.  He rights himself enough to sit back on his peds, scanning the vitals of Perceptor and Drift before checking on his own frame and systems.

Ratchet emits a low whistle.  “Must of been one pit of an overload.”  He starts when his internal systems finally register their overclocked nature on his HUD.  ‘For that to happen,’ Ratchet stops his thoughts dead and shoots a look at Perceptor who was now openly laughing.

“Primus, we mast a blown at least fifteen circuits.”

“Mm.  At least twenty-three by my calculations,” Perceptor quips.  He has stayed mostly in the same slumped position.

“Blew a few motor relays too,” Ratchet purrs, rather pleased.  His vital scans had come back to report that the natural nanites in Drift and Perceptor’s frame where already on their way to fix the system damage.  Still…

Ratchet attempts to heave his bulk to his peds before slamming back to the floor of the bathing pool.  He snorts and shakes his head.  ‘Well add in some of my own relays too,’ he muses to himself.

He huffs for a moment before giving up on maintaining any dignity.  Who was he fooling any way? These were his conjux endurae, and it wasn’t the first and sure as frag wouldn’t be the last time he crawled along covered in lubricant and transfluid, stinking of burned circuitry and an overwhelmingly pleased buzz to his field.  He drags his glossa over his lips as he draws nearer the slumped form of Perceptor.

Frag him but he wanted to settle over Perceptor and just rub their frames together until they overloaded again.  However the medic in him has him lifting a shaky hand to trigger the unspooling of a medical linkup plug.  Ratchet slides the connection into an access port in Perceptor’s arm to trigger an override to the redundancy that was keeping his motor relays offline.

“Mm, an uplink, Ratchet?  I thought you scolded Drift often enough that this,” he lifts a digit to stroke lightly along the cabling, “wasn’t for interfacing.”

Ratchet feels his face heat slightly.  A knowing little smile graces Perceptor’s lips as Ratchet tries to get his revved systems back in line.  That last cascade of overloads must have really done a number on his inhibition coding if he had really sent those commands to uplink into Perceptor’s sensation matrices.  While they all indulged in the plug and play practice, it was never with a medical connector plug.

He unlinked the connector and dipped his helm shyly.  “Uh let’s see to Drift.”  His optics soften as they alight on his still offline lover.  He lays a hand on Drift’s back, stroking between his shoulders.  “He was a knot of emotions,” Ratchet says to Perceptor at his quizzical look.

Ratchet slides his arms around Drift’s chest to raise him up and against Ratchet’s own board chest.  Red digits stroke over a white chest lovingly.  Ratchet smiles at the contented thrum of an engine that answers his stroking digits.  Both Perceptor and he shutter their optics, indulging in the blissful harmony that Drift projects into his electromagnetic field.

Ratchet hugs Drift tighter to himself and reaches out a hand to Perceptor.  He is quick to take Ratchet’s unspoken invitation and presses in close to Drift’s front, his long arms hooking about Ratchet's back as they surround Drift with love and protection, opting to let him online without any outside prompting.

“Remember when he told us that the overloads we had together were better than any circuit booster he ever tried?”  Ratchet sighs deeply.

“Mm.  He’ll be blissed from this for a few days,” Perceptor beams with some pride.  He presses a kiss to Drift’s cheek.

“Yeah.” Ratchet tightens on arm about Drift while freeing one hand to reach up and stroke Perceptor’s cheek.  “Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have you by my side?  And how utterly brilliant you were to suggest bringing Drift into our relationship?”  Ratchet’s spark swells with emotion.  He was often at his most open and vulnerable when he is laying sequestered with his conjux endurae.

“Frequently,” Perceptor turns his head to place a kiss on Ratchet’s palm.  “But I would have never guessed he would so thoroughly complete us.”  He shutters his optics and vents deeply.  “Three wholes that have become one until eternity.”

Ratchet’s vents hitch, and he reboots his vocalizer.  “Mm yes.  Three wholes that have become one until eternity.”

They both settle in and wait for Drift to awaken so they could clean up and begin the next phase.

=0=

Drift onlines to a blissful stutter to his systems.  His HUD sends a few notifications that he was too warm, but his processor and spark ignored those warnings as they were not telling him what his frame was really feeling which was cozy and protected and loved.  His optics finally clear of enough static noise for him to identify Perceptor who was smiling indulgently at him.  Drift returns it with a doopy of his own.  A chuckle from behind him told him that Ratchet was there.  He hums and is tempted to fall back into recharge.

Drift yelps, shocked awake by a small nip placed on his audio.  A glossa licks over the nip before Ratchet vents a gust of heated air over the wet area.  Drift shivers and arches with a moan.

He hears Perceptor tsk at both him and Ratchet.  Perceptor leans forward to give Drift a deep kiss then leans upward to give Ratchet one as well. He leans back and gives both of them a fondly exasperated look as their engines rev in unison.

“Hedonists the both of you.”  Perceptor stands with a shake to his head and offers a hand up to Drift.

“Hey!”  Drift protests while taking the offered hand to stand.  “Ratch is the hedonist.  I’m just an enabler here to help him out.”

Ratchet laughs lowly and leans back on one hand.  He raises the other and rubs it along the central invisible seam on his chest.  Digits slicking through transfluid and lubricant from their earlier play.  His optics shine with pride.  “Guilty as charged.”  He runs the digits down the length of his chest to the medallion on his belly which he fingers like he was rimming his digits around the outer edge of a port.

Drift shivers and licks his lips.

“Come on, Ratchet,” Perceptor’s voice is firm causing Ratchet to moan.

Ratchet is quick to scramble to his feet as Perceptor heads to the deck of the empty bathing pool.  He climbs onto the deck and offers hands to Drift and Ratchet.

All three of them head for the showering area to get cleaned up.  Drift and Ratchet’s digits skating in lingering swipes over each others and Perceptor’s frame when he relents and gives in to the wide optics and pouts.  Perceptor puts a stop to any straying touches when he’s satisfied they are all clean by grabbing a surprised Drift and hefting him over one shoulder.  He snatches Ratchet under his other arm, enjoying the squeak the medic emits.

He easily carries them both to the pillow nest, letting Ratchet get his peds under himself before plunking Drift down in the middle of it.  He finds a spot close by but has given Drift some space.  Ratchet follows his lead.  The three of them sit in a triangle as Drift bites his lip somewhat nervously.

Ratchet and Perceptor project calm and love in their fields as they wait for Drift to tell them what he wants next.

“S-so-”  Drift extends his hands.  There is a slight shake to them. When neither of them move forward to take the offered hands, Drift draws them back and places them in his lap.  He takes a few deep vents.  He peeks at Ratchet than Perceptor with a helpless look.

“Drift,” Ratchet’s tone is soft, “weren’t you just going over a few ideas you had with us that you thought might help, and that you’d like to give a try?”

“Or,” Perceptor’s tone is also soft but holds a bit of an allure, “we could skip that today and just focus on polishing and waxing.  Perhaps even indulge in a few more overloads before we retire to our hab suite?”

Drift flicks a glance at the clippers which still sat in plain sight but far enough away he knew that neither of them could touch it then pounce on him.  He takes in a slow vent.

“I’d like to try what - what we were talking about last time,” he offers with a shy dip to his helm.  “The - the one where I lay then sit in a lap while - while,” his engine revs, “one of you polishes me then - then!”

He starts abruptly as his engine races at the thought of being held so gently by one lover while the other ran a cloth over his frame, touching sensitive seams.  He leans forward, very ready to crawl into either of their laps.

Perceptor holds up a hand, forestalling him but smiling at the whine.  “In a moment, love.”  Perceptor turns to Ratchet who reaches for a cloth and the container of wax.  “Would it be alright if I held you?”

He pats his lap, and Drift eagerly moves toward Perceptor.  “May we bring the clippers into the nest?”  Perceptor asks when Drift has made himself comfortable on his belly across Perceptor’s lap.

Drift tenses and looks towards the clippers.  He nods his helm but amends and utters “yes” in a hesitant tone.  He arches when a he feels a large hand land on the small of his back.  The digits rubbing soothing circles at the base of his spinal strut.  He looks over his shoulder at Perceptor before smiling then turning to Ratchet.  “Yes,” he says more firmly.

Ratchet takes him at his word and goes to retrieve the clippers which he lays in front of Drift on one of the pillows.  Drift draws his hands back, still hesitant.  He clutches at Perceptor’s leg.  He eyes the clippers then gasps and sighs in pleasure as Ratchet applies a good dollop of his special blend of polishing wax.

The wax was laced with ionized crystal particles that created a tingling charge over even the densest of plating when rubbed into warmth.  It often created a feeling of the protoform being stroked beneath heavy armor plates.  Deeply set sensors lighting up and releasing clusters of pulses that would harmonize with the particles own little crackles.

Drift lays limply across Perceptor’s lap after a few moments of Ratchet rubbing the wax slowly into his back.  Any tensely held armor is spread to allow ease of access for nimble red digits.  Drift lets go of Perceptor’s leg and unconsciously begins to knead at pillows within his reach.

He arches here and there to encourage Ratchet to linger on specific areas longer.  He’s so caught up in the euphoria that he’s only half aware of a soft tink of metal against his digits.

Onlining his optics in a blurry state, Drift focuses on the shiny thing next to his hand for long moments.  He pokes at it before picking it up and bringing it closer to his optics.  And while his optics do focus on the shiny thing when he realizes what he is holding, he does not tense or show any sign of fright.  Point of fact he giggles and begins to play with them.  Drift bats them about on the pillow between his digits before running their cool metal against his digits.

A tap on his upper back has him looking up and back at Perceptor and Ratchet with a dreamy smile.  His conjux endurae smile encouragingly at him, and Drift feels safe and loved.

“Ready to do your front?” Ratchet asks as he leans back.

“Yes.”

He lifts himself enough for Perceptor to slip an arm under his chest to help him sit up.  He keeps a hold of the clippers in his one hand and resettles himself in Perceptor’s lap.  He has his back to the larger mech and spread his knees wide open, resting them on Perceptor’s own.  He offers Ratchet a coy smile as he dips his helm.  Oh he really liked this part the best!

Ratchet shakes his head at Drift but looks over the front of Drift’s frame trying to find the best place to start.  Drift nudges Ratchet’s thigh with a ped and leans back into Perceptor who was outright laughing as he wrapped his left hand around Drift to stroke over his belly.

“Brat,” Ratchet murmurs fondly.  “And you don’t help things by spoiling him like that, Perceptor.”  Ratchet meant to have his tone be firm and scolding but it holds nothing but a deep affection, especially as his spark spins at the sight of the two of them.

Drift rubs his ped against Ratchet’s thigh again.  This time aiming to make it a lingering caress.  But Ratchet easily catches it and begins to polish Drift’s feet.  Drift shifts in Perceptor’s lap and watches Ratchet work, which was always a true joy.  Drift bit his lip as Ratchet worked the cloth and wax higher up his leg.

It was a gentle questing touch to his hand that still clutched the clippers that drew Drift’s optics away from Ratchet.  Perceptor’s digits caressed Drift’s, not touching the clippers.  Drift tightened his grip for a moment before opening it.  Perceptor took them from Drift but merely held tham as his other hand stroked over Drift’s chest and belly.

Drift snaps sharp optics down to Ratchet who had made his way up to the plating of Drift’s inner thigh. His vents hitch as the cloth circles tantalizingly closer to the juncture of his thighs.  He inches his hips forward until a firm hand on his belly stops him.  Drift whines but obeys Perceptor’s silent command to lean back against him.

Ratchet goes back to start on Drift’s other ped and works his way up that leg.  Meanwhile Drift huffs and circles his hips while Perceptor keeps a commanding hand on his abdominal armor.  Rachet rubs more than a fair amount of wax along all of Drift’s pelvic assembly, touches turning frustratingly light as he runs the cloth over Drift’s modesty covers.

Perceptor chuckles darkly at the staticy pleas and threats Drift aims at Ratchet and himself.  He draws his hand slowly up Drift’s chest when Ratchet moves to begin his work on Drift’s torso.  To hear Drift moan and whine make both of his lovers shiver.  Ratchet, however, gives in to the temptation and leans forward to give Drift a lingering kiss even as his digits continue to work the cloth and wax slowly into Drift’s frame.

It is Perceptor’s rising arm that final has Ratchet backing away and returning his attention to watching his work to make sure the wax was spread evenly.  Perceptor castes Ratchet an indulgent, understanding smile.  Oh he knew very well how Drift’s little moans and mewls could affect the processor’s functionality.  Still he would remain the firm wall until the task was done or Drift decided to stop.

Perceptor draws his digits up and over Drift’s arm until he held Drift’s wrist gently.  He massages it and caught the turn of Drift’s helm towards his right hand.  He waited for Drift to vent and steady his systems against the pleasure racing through them.  There was no fear in his field only lust and warm love.

“Yes,” Drift is finally able to say between bursts of static and moans.

Perceptor slides his left hand to Drift’s palm then to his thumb, pressing on it to extend the claw.  He knows Drift is watching him even as he moans and shifts under Ratchet’s hands.  The snick of the clippers is quiet.  Perceptor stops and looks to Drift who gives him a tiny smile.  Feeling encouraged that with their combined efforts they could keep their mate calm and safe, he moves on to the next claw and so on.

Drift turns his attention back to Ratchet who had leaned forward to give his audio a light pecking kiss.  Working carefully around Perceptor’s arm, Ratchet rubs wax across Drift’s chest plate.  This elicits a happy and content sigh from Drift who leans forward slightly.

“Know what you want, medic,” Drift says with a deep growl and tonal shift - his “Deadlock voice” as they had all jokingly called it at one time or another.  Ratchet in particular thrilled when he or Perceptor used a deeper tone.  “Gonna throw you down and frag you hard from behind til your vocalizer can’t scream my designation no more.”  Drift tilts his helm to the side to indicate Perceptor who still works slowly but has keen audios.

“Gonna make you watch while I take the scientist too; tie up those hands of yours so you can't jack it while we frag each other hard enough to strip the paint off our frames.”  Drift shits and trembles at his own dirty promises.  “Then you again. Gonna be so hot too.  Open that chest of yours and merge out sparks over and over again til you only feel me.  Then Perceptor’s gonna take my place while I watch you beg and squirm.”

Ratchet’s cooling fans kick up at these dirty promises.  His processor helpfully supplying him with video and images of the last time they both merged with him until he could only feel them in his spark casing and barely himself.

He laughs and levels a challenging look at Drift as Perceptor continues his work.  “Prove it,” he pokes at the beast.

Having reached Drift’s hand with the polishing wax and cloth, Ratchet turns to suck each digit into his mouth like it was a cord.  He licks the end of each digit before running his glossa over the palm of Drift’s hand.

“Alright, brats.”  Perceptor adds a stern tone to his voice as he tosses the clippers to the side, having finished Drift’s other hand while Ratchet licked and sucked on the finished one.  He pushes on Ratchet’s chest to make him fall back on his aft.  Perceptor easily flips a squawking Drift in his lap back on his belly.  He gives Drift’s a soft tap that makes him jump then moan with a wiggle of white hips.

Perceptor grasps Drift’s closed valve panel roughly.  “Open up,” he says.

Drift is quick to obey as he cants his hips invitingly.  He moans a moment later when he feels the hard press of Perceptor’s spike against his belly.

“So naughty the both of you.”

Perceptor lays a heavy hand on the middle of Drift’s back to keep him pinned.  He runs a single digit teasingly around the outer most edge of Drift’s port.  He turns his helm to Ratchet.  “I do believe you have an arm to finish waxing, love.” Perceptor inserts two digits into Drift’s valve which was already well lubricated.  He hooks them against the back edge of the port, putting a pulling upward pressure.  Drift’s hips attempt to follow the upward pull.

“Now since you seem to want to use your mouth, Drift,” Perceptor pauses and moves his digits in a thrusting motion.  He grunts when the tip of his cord strokes along Drift’s belly as he squirms.  He vents and composes himself, stilling his digits.  “Why don't you wrap it around Ratchet’s cable that he’s got all nice and ready for you?  I’m quite certain he’d love to feel a song or two on it.  Wouldn’t you, Ratchet?”

Perceptor smiles sweetly as he watches Drift groupe eagerly for Ratchet who is quick to oblige and finish his work.  Drift takes Ratchet deep into his mouth while he utters a low moan.

“Good.  Now,” Perceptor withdraws his digits to run them along the outer rim of Drift’s valve again, “when I am good and convinced you two are being on your best behavior, we’ll see about getting to Drift’s promises.”

He hears two identical moans though one is muffled.  He sighs and shifts his own hips when vibrations begin to run wildly through Drift’s frame.

They would need several more cleaning and polishing sessions, but Perceptor believed, with an enthusiastic hail Primus nod from Ratchet, that Drift deserved some reward of his remarkable advancement today.

He grins devilishly.  “And we have the next several shifts to indulge him in whatever he wants,” he says to no one in particular.


End file.
